Mech: Shattering of the Galaxy Chapter 1555 - 71: Father and Son on the Run

But just as the voice from the canoe faded, a piercing whistle echoed from the distance. Suddenly, a spear shot out from the dense undergrowth, impacting the earth with such force that it sent soil flying four to five meters into the air.

The ensuing wave of dirt even washed over the surface of the river.

Two figures narrowly evaded the projectile. They turned their heads towards the canoe, their eyes conveying gratitude, yet they firmly shook their heads in refusal.

These two individuals, one towering and one diminutive, one broad and one slender.

The elder appeared to be in his forties, while the younger was barely past ten years of age.

They seemed to be a father and son, en route to a village for trade, each burdened with a bulging sack.

With the agility of leopards, they swiftly dove back into the concealing grass.

"You believe you can simply flee?"

A lanky figure suddenly vaulted seven to eight meters into the sky, tracing a parabola exceeding ten meters before descending with a heavy thud.

Boom!

The individual retrieved the spear lodged in the ground, casting a sideways glance at the three canoes halted on the river.

"A personal vendetta from the Red Stone tribe. What, does the Green Leaf Tribe intend to aid the White Armor Tribe?"

The sinister voice grew nearer. The figure leaped high once more, the spear now aimed directly at a canoe. It was evident he had registered the voice originating from within.

At this precise moment, from the area just behind where he had stood, the distinct sound of numerous footsteps erupted.

Dozens of lean, menacing figures burst forth from the grass, their cold gazes sweeping over the Green Leaf Tribe's canoe, a vicious glint in their eyes.

Within the canoe, a man exceeding two meters in height, upon hearing the threat, his face contorting with anger, was on the verge of a retort.

However, an elder suddenly interjected with a sharp cry, "Boluo, remain silent!"

The elder then stood, projecting his voice from the large canoe towards the riverbank, "We are merely passing through, warriors of the Red Stone tribe."

"Hmph!"

The slender individual, who had been airborne, let out a cold snort. His malevolent gaze swept over everyone present before he vanished into the grass ahead with impressive momentum. His voice, however, continued to carry from a distance, "An enemy's friend is the sworn foe of my Red Stone tribe!"

"Capture those two White Armor clan worms."

A large contingent of Red Stone tribe warriors responded with a resounding clamor, entirely disregarding the Green Leaf tribe in the canoe.

The thunderous footsteps receded, and within twenty seconds, the riverbank reverted to its former tranquility.

The robust man, Boluo, who had been silenced mid-sentence, glared at the elder. "Why did you stop me? We are not subordinates of the Red Stone tribe!"

"Would you have these frail and sickly folk accompany you to their demise? If the Red Stone tribe severs our trade, from where would our people obtain salt to sustain themselves?"

The elder's voice was stern, and the imposing Boluo reluctantly fell silent.

The Red Stone tribe wielded an overwhelming dominance, reaching a point where they could casually fabricate a pretext to absorb smaller tribes.

As for the reason the White Armor tribe had been targeted... it was something they were well aware of.

Hadn't a goddess of wisdom and beauty recently appeared among them?

Subsequently, the son of the Red Stone tribe's Clan Leader, Izewende, had set his sights upon her.

This tyrannical and lecherous young Clan Chief had wronged countless women, and now his predatory attention was fixed upon the White Armor tribe's radiant jewel.

It would be a laughable notion if the White Armor tribe were to acquiesce.

Isaiah, that lion-hearted man, was not one to tolerate such flagrant indecency!

The outcome, when the Red Stone tribe demanded subservience from the White Armor clan, was as predictable as daybreak.

However, the extent of the Red Stone tribe's current shamelessness was unexpected; this was clearly a direct assault on the White Armor clan's trading partners.

Their intention was to drive them to utter ruin.

With the enemy at the peak of their strength, for the Green Leaf tribe, whose population was smaller than that of the White Armor tribe, to rashly intervene would be akin to sacrificing their own lives.

In this perilous grassland, one should never act impulsively in matters of such gravity.

"Let us depart! We shall not involve ourselves."

And so, the three canoes once again carved towering wakes, and within three seconds, they shot away like arrows loosed upon the river.

Beneath the somber, misty sky, the area reclaimed its unique, profound silence.

The plump fish reappeared, placidly grazing on water plants, utterly unconcerned. They lived for the present moment, where survival was a daily, unceasing struggle.

...

...

"Dad, wheeze, wheeze... My throat aches... My chest feels like it’s going to burst."

The child, half the height of the other, panted heavily as he addressed the figure beside him.

"I-I can't run any farther."

These two figures were indeed a father and his son.

In the faint moonlight, the child's profile, slick with sweat, revealed a sturdy, robust build and dark skin. This was unmistakably the slightly plump child who had often been tardy for Teacher Wang Nuonuo's lessons.

"Enoch, do you not aspire to become a warrior of the tribe? Allow Dad to carry your burden. Do not cease your movement, do not stop!"

The middle-aged man next to him, with a fierce look driven by sheer necessity, seized the chubby boy's bag and hoisted it onto his own shoulder.

As a father, all he could manage at this critical juncture was to alleviate his son's load in this small way.

He was unable to set down the large pack he himself was carrying.

Refined salt was the most valuable commodity produced by the Red Stone tribe.

Without a regular intake of salt, even the most robust individual would parish.

Furthermore, the surrounding wilderness teemed with hidden threats, and countless Star Beasts lay in wait.

The White Armor tribe had suffered such staggering battle losses that a strategic withdrawal was now imperative.

For the fresh recruits now tasked with continuing the fight, sufficient salt was essential, despite its extreme scarcity.

And it was the responsibility of the White Armor clan's hunter and merchant, Beardsley, to ensure these vital provisions were brought back for the entire clan.

If he were to act selfishly or carelessly, utter devastation might befall the tribe.

"So, we absolutely cannot perish! We must not falter!"

The middle-aged man, Beardsley, could offer nothing more than words of encouragement to his son.

The White Armor tribe's families were depending on them.

Their tribe was blessed with the presence of the divine Teacher Wang Nuonuo; she must never be sullied by that vile scoundrel, Izewende.

Swoosh!

A sudden whistling sound, as of something cutting through the air, came from behind.

Beardsley quickly moved to the side, and just as he was about to turn his head, he caught sight of another silent spear hurtling towards the chubby boy from the edge of his vision.

Instantly, Beardsley's eyes blazed with fury.

This kind of silent spear-throwing was the signature technique of the Red Stone tribe's Udan Spearman.

And the notorious practice of a Udan Spearman...

...was to leave no one alive.

The spear, aimed directly at chubby Enoch's head, was a grim testament to this.

Within a single second, if it found its mark, the boy's body would be impaled.

Regardless of the immense weight of his dual burdens, Beardsley moved with astonishing speed at that moment.

He suddenly shoved sideways, catching Enoch completely off guard and sending him flying away; as his son landed, a sickening thud reached his ears...

Thud!

That was the sound of a sharp spear piercing flesh.

"Go... ah!"

Beardsley spat a mouthful of blood, reaching out with his bare hand to grasp the embedded spear... and yank it free.

The middle-aged man then broke into a sprint, covering ground with great strides.

Even as his vision began to swim and blur, Beardsley harbored not a single thought of surrender.

The severe blood loss finally induced a wave of dizziness.

Yet, despite this, Beardsley did not decrease his rapid pace by even a fraction.

"Enoch, if Dad doesn't make it... don't waste time burying me. Just keep running. Never stop."

"Go on, cross three more rivers, and we will have arrived!"

A final, brilliant radiance seemed to flash across Beardsley's face, like the last flicker of a dying flame.